


I tuoi vestiti in sette borse

by Bernardina



Category: Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bernardina/pseuds/Bernardina
Summary: Why? He was supposed to be happy, he was finally moving in with love, his Bizio, after months of worrying over nothing. If he himself didn’t deserve a break and a moment of pure joy, Fabrizio certainly did. Yet here Ermal was, sitting on the sofa, trying to keep his feelings from bursting out, desperately stopping the unwanted memories from breaking into his new world. And failing.





	I tuoi vestiti in sette borse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raisedtokeepquiet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedtokeepquiet/gifts).



> After a lot of struggling I finally finished this piece.  
> Usually this plotline goes better and less angsty, but this is me. Never listen to 9 primavere while packing your things, if you don't want to come up with the idea, which will make you cry.  
> A HUGE thank you to Marjolein for pushing my lazy tired ass to continue writing, this is for you!❤

Ermal sighed. After days of thinking, making lists of things he needed to take, leaving those lists where he could never find them again, making new ones and repeating the circle he was there. Ready to take everything he packed and exit the house to never return again. Ready to follow Fabrizio to his car, try not to get killed by the Roman’s driving skills and beautiful, _oh, so beautiful_ hands being anywhere but on the wheel, and get to _their_ home. Well, almost ready.

This night he couldn't sleep. His mind kept going back to the plans for the nearest future, repeating what he should do like some sort of a chant. Sleeping pills have been good friends to him for long, but even they failed to calm down that hurricane of thoughts roaring inside his already aching head. So he got up and decided to start packing things to finally get rid of his worries.

Rummaging through his closet Ermal realised a few things. First of all, why did he have so many clothes? There were some he could swear he’s never seen before. Like those weird jackets, too glittery even for him. Fabio would surely like them and suggest to wear on stage. Better kill it with fire, before his beloved stylist turns him into a Christmas tree. Secondly, maybe his mother was right about him being skinny. He easily fit into his old clothes of La Fame Di Camilla period. Seeing those white t-shirts and plain, absolutely not shiny suits made him smile and start humming something quietly he only later recognised as Come Il Sole A Mezzanotte. He almost called Dino to bury both of them in a pool of nostalgia but put the mere idea away, when he saw the time on his phone screen. The poor man was carelessly sleeping in his bed like any normal human being. Luckily, his guitar never needed rest, and soon his fingers started softly touching the strings, the sounds of music he hasn’t played for years but remembered as if it was composed yesterday filling the void in the room and a calm emptiness inside his trembling heart.

He waited for this moment so long. Imagined the day he would take Fabrizio’s hand and let this amazing man softly ruffle his curls before taking him to a brand new chapter of his life. Because every house has its own story, and this one is almost finished, only the last few sentences in the epilogue are missing. And just like in songs, the last lines are what determines the feeling you get, when you listen to the whole piece. And just like at those long nights filled with frustration and regret for something he couldn't understand, when he cursed everyone in this world but mostly himself and threw away crumbled pieces of paper torn by the tip of his pen, those final words just couldn't take the right shape. At this moment he wanted nothing more than to smile and feel this bittersweet tingling sensation appearing only in that short second between the end and another beginning, but there was just a half of it. The bitter half.

Another window in the opposite house turned bright yellow. The sun hasn’t set yet, and it was still comfortable to move around the room without using electricity. A pretty strange timing, not day, not dusk. Milan hasn’t fallen asleep yet, and several hours will pass before the nightlife awakens. Ermal winced at the irritating sound, as he closed the curtains. Not that it mattered if anyone saw him now, but he still wanted to have his last bit of privacy. Besides, if he doesn’t get away from this window soon, he might as well glue his feet to the floor. He heard footsteps coming to the direction of the noise he’s just made.

“I packed everything. It’s ready”, Ermal rushed to say something.

He wanted to say he was ready too, but lying to Fabrizio’s face was disgusting, not to mention impossible. The man knew his every emotion, every little change is his voice, every barely noticeable sign, even those that would mean the complete opposite, if made by anybody else. Sometimes he wondered whether Fabri had a dictionary with words translated from Ermalese to Italian. Once he joked about it. Bizio laughed and said with his abilities to learn languages he wouldn't get even through the first page. Ermal didn’t miss his chance to use that as an opportunity to roast the man. Smiling at the memory, he turned around and was met with a worried look.

“Sorry”, Ermal felt the extreme need to get away from the piercing eyes he would stare at for hours any other time, “We'll probably get stuck in traffic, if we don’t move soon. I'll go bring the things.”

“It’s alright, if you need a moment. We don’t have to rush.” Fabri wrapped an arm around Ermal’s shoulders and softly kissed his cheek before exiting the room.Ermal sighed again. How did this man know his thoughts he himself wasn’t able to put into words?

The bags were in another room. He couldn’t rely only on his vision, and stumbling on something in the dark and breaking a leg was the last thing he wanted to remember this day by, so he turned on the lights and had to cover his eyes for a bit to let them adjust to the sudden brightness. When he finally took his hands away from his face, his first wish was to bring them back there. All this furniture without little things put on the nearest flat space in the morning hurry, the bed without a guitar put down next to it, the small table without sheets of paper filled with lyrics for unfinished songs, walls without pictures and Anita’s sloppy sketches of him. Plain. Dull. Lifeless. Seeing the place where many of his dreams were born and transformed into melodies so dead felt like the air being sucked out of his lungs. The only thing screaming for attention were the bags on the sofa. _Seven bags_. He had to touch his neck to make sure nobody was choking him.

Why? He was supposed to be happy, he was finally moving in with love, his Bizio, after months of worrying over nothing, dealing with random obstacles and distracting issues with the tour, album sales, his manager, radio broadcasts, silly rumours and the disorganised emotional turmoil in his head. If he himself didn’t deserve a break and a moment of pure joy, Fabrizio certainly did. Yet here Ermal was, sitting on the sofa, trying to keep his feelings from bursting out, desperately stopping the unwanted memories from breaking into his new world. And _failing_.

***

A loud buzzing noise. Her face, pale in the white light of the phone screen. An unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line. Her quiet “Yes, I'll be there in a minute”. Pressing the button to end the call.

“My taxi is here.”

He looked at the ceiling, the floor, the walls, observing the surroundings as if wanting the image to stay forever on the inner side of his eyelids. Strange… He wasn’t the one leaving yet it felt like saying farewell to his home. And in a way it was, this house would never give the same sensation of comfort it did before.

“Take care of yourself. I know you’ll brush it off, but I’m serious”, she spoke again, softly and sincerely. He could feel a “what for?” threatening to escape his mouth and had to swallow not to let it out. He didn't want her to waste any more time dealing with his self-doubts. She has been doing it for nine years, rest is the least she deserves for putting up with him for so long.

He couldn't look her in the eye, otherwise nothing would be able to hold back the tears now forming in the corners of his eyes. He started fighting them just seconds ago but already predicted he’d lose this battle. If he couldn't learn how to control his emotions after thirty-six years, what can a few minutes change? He had to look somewhere else, let something distract him from the fact that there was another figure standing in the room and that this figure wouldn't be here for long.

A colourful painting on the wall brought his attention. It was some modern art, he never quite understood it. Silvia tried to tell him about the meaning of those geometrical forms, but all he could see were squares and triangles. She bought it on one of their countless journeys to see the new exhibitions opening in Milan for a short time. Ermal loved watching her enthusiastically talking about the paintings and the secret meaning behind them more than the art itself. He adored the way her eyes would light up, when she saw the work of that one artist she came there for, adored her slight nervousness, when she approached the exhibition shop, adored her smile and quiet laugh, when he joked about how they would have nothing to pay their rent with, if they bought something from there, adored her smirk after she found out that prices were quite low. It all made his heart beat faster with a rush of joy. However, he never told her, and now it was too late for that anyway.

“Did you forget the picture?”, he pointed at the wall, still unwilling to meet her gaze.

“No”, she sighed, the tone of her voice revealing how tense she was, “I thought I’d leave it here, so you'll have something to remember me by. If you want, I can take it.”

“No! It actually grew on me. And after all I did give you that ring.”

He finally faced her to nod at the small silver ring on her middle finger. Back then they thought it was a good idea to buy identical rings to always match. One day they spent an hour trying to get Silvia’s shining monster out of Ermal’s finger, when he mistook it for his own while being on the rush to some interview and managed to fit on his thumb. They wasted a lot of olive oil and soap and couldn't hold back screaming victory, when Ermal’s hand was finally set free. Since then they always remembered to keep their rings separate.

“I thought you’d want to get rid of it, honestly.”

Silvia shook her head, “I would never.”

Ermal tried blinking and closing his eyes, fully understanding it all was in vain, as tears were, no doubt, falling down his cheeks, not willing to stop anytime soon. He felt warm familiar arms embrace him and couldn't help squeezing them tightly and breathing in the flowery scent of perfume. He didn't know how much time had passed: usually the clock on the drawer was the one to tell, but they threw it away a year ago, as Ermal complained that its constant ticking was preventing him from getting any sleep. Not that it helped. Not that anything could fix his sleeping habits (or, rather, lack of them). When he wiped the tears away with his hand and looked at Silvia, he noticed her cheeks shine with wet traces too. His lips formed into a weak smile at the thought that sometimes waterproof mascara could really come in handy.

“I should go. The taxi is waiting.”

“I'll help you with your things”, he offered and gestured at the seven bags on the floor, carefully put together and looking so out of place in the bedroom, which was supposed to be their cozy sanctuary for as long as they were willing to stay in the house. If he had a choice between Silvia and this damn flat, he’d choose Silvia countless times, and he was sure she’d do the same if asked about him, but none of it mattered. There was a taxi waiting outside, there were shards of their love waiting to be carried away in one of the seven bags. He was ready to help her carry them. He told himself he was ready.

“There’s no need. I'll ask the driver.”

She took a few steps towards the door, reached out to open it-

“Silvia!”, he called out, cursing his voice for betraying him in the wrongest of all moments. She turned around.

“Text me, when you get…”, he wanted to bite his tongue off for almost saying “ home”, “I just want to know you are safe.”

“I will.”

He swallowed nervously and tried to smile at her. She probably smiled back, but his vision was too blur to find out.

***

“Ermal?”

He moved his hands from his face, just enough to be able to see where the voice came from. He was aware of another man’s presence, yet it still took him a few seconds to realise what was going on. Fabrizio was kneeled in front of him, looking at him with obvious concern. With a hint of uncertainty he reached out to touch Ermal and, not receiving any objections, gently wiped away a tear.

“You don’t need to hide. You can tell me anything”, he softly stroked Ermal’s cheek with his thumb, and Ermal loudly exhaled, letting himself relax a bit. “It’s ok if you don’t want to, I understand”, Fabri quickly added.

They stayed like this for a moment before Ermal gestured at the sofa as an invitation for the other man to sit next to him. Just a second later an arm was wrapped around Ermal’s back, as he leaned on Fabri’s shoulder for this pleasant sensation of warmth, which couldn't be explained simply by body heat.

“It’s not that I don’t want to… It’s just not worth it. You'll laugh at me.”

Before Fabrizio had a chance to open his mouth, Ermal continued.

“I know you won’t, I know. But you should. It’s really stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, if it makes you feel like this.”

Ermal wanted to cover his face again, but Fabrizio’s hand held his own tenderly but tightly, proving a point without making him uncomfortable. Ermal couldn't help staring at the veins barely visible under the inked sun on dark skin. Despite complaining about the amount of tattoos Bizio had and not forgetting to point that out at every given opportunity, Ermal adored every single one of them. He spent hours lying in bed, his fingers softly tracing every letter and then touching clean skin too, as if writing some words there or composing a melody with every little caress being a note. But his favourite has always been the sun, black yet so bright. He made a habit of kissing it, pressing his lips just a second longer than usual. _“It really suits you”_ , Ermal whispered in one of their rare lazy mornings, lying on Fabrizio’s chest, feeling the beat of the other man’s heart and realizing his own beat slightly faster whenever soft fingers slowly massaged his neck before losing themselves in the waves of curls. “Well, Romina knows what she does, and she knows me even better”, Fabrizio hummed in response, as his fingers moved to Ermal’s back, sending pleasant warm shivers down his spine. Ermal wanted to tell that was not what he meant, but the light in Fabri’s eyes followed by the sweetest smile and lips’ movements quickly deciphered as a silent “ti amo” were more than enough to stop him from unnecessary explanations.

While that memory made this clenching in his chest weaken, the haunting image was still in the back of his mind, waiting for the right moment to crash with full force. Ermal closed his eyes in an attempt to find strength to let it happen now.

“It’s just… There’s a lot attached to this place. I’ve moved many times, I mostly didn’t feel anything except worry settling in would take long and this anxiety, which always appears, when you’re on the road. But here, so much happened. I feel like I put a piece of myself somewhere in this room, and even if I search every corner, I won’t find it. And everything reminds me of it. Look at the bags.”

He said it almost without pauses, afraid the words would refuse to come out, if he spends even a millisecond in silence. There was no response, only the grip on his hand becoming slightly tighter. When Ermal opened his eyes, he was met with a clearly confused Fabrizio, turning his gaze from Ermal to the colourful packages, trying to connect the dots and not succeeding.

“Count them.”

Of course, Fabrizio didn’t have to remember every single line of Ermal’s songs. Of course, Fabrizio didn’t have to know every detail of something which happened what felt like an eternity ago. Of course, Fabrizio did. Within a short second warm strong arms embraced Ermal, drawing circles on his now trembling back. He couldn’t focus on anything except lips being pressed to his forehead again and again and raspy voice whispering something he couldn’t grasp in between. Not that he wanted his concentration to be elsewhere. Slowly the image before his closed eyes changed, sharp feminine features being replaced by masculine, no long locs, no mascara on the eyelashes, no tears. No tears, no, no. He repeated it in his head countless times until he was sure his own also dried. Still clinging to his Bizio as if holding for dear life, Ermal suggested,

“We should get going.”

Fabrizio hummed in agreement, slowly detangling himself from Ermal and looking him straight in the eye to confirm no trace of previous pain was left on his face. At a gentle “grazie, Bizio” his gaze turned softer, and Ermal couldn’t hold back a smile and a little sigh of relief.

When they got up, Ermal started frantically pacing around the room, scolding himself for bad memory and trying to force his mind to show him if there was anything he didn’t pack despite obvious intentions to do so. Finally he came across a pair of sunglasses lying on the top of the fridge. At sleepless night that probably seemed a good place to leave them. When Ermal was ready to put sunglasses on his forehead, a familiar voice stopped him.

“If you think you’ll need those now, you might want to reconsider.”

Fabrizio gestured at the window, where nothing was visible except the reflection of the room and two easily recognisable silhouettes in the middle.

“Allow me?”

The sunglasses were carefully put away from Ermal, while he was taken aback by the sudden realization of how much time had passed, and into a small bag Fabrizio got out of his pocket.

“That’s better. Count your bags now.”

Ermal at first looked puzzled, staring at Fabri now grabbing his packages and holding them like a Sanremo trophy. Then it hit him. Two in Bizio's hands, three on the sofa, two moved to the floor. An almost empty one put on the table in front of him. _Eight. Oh god, eight._

***

Dawn light was slightly peeking through the thick curtains in their bedroom, but it was enough to wake Ermal up. The bags under his eyes were becoming smaller day by day, but it would still take his some time to fully get used to sleeping properly. The pills remained on his nightstand untouched as well as a glass of water he put there every night before going to bed, if he wasn’t too busy admiring Bizio’s body to care about his evening routine. A few times he woke up to the sight of the other man gazing at him with sweet longing, barely touching his curls, clearly afraid to disturb Ermal with his caresses. Still he spent most of the early hours either leaving feather-light kisses on Fabrizio’s arms, knowing it won’t wake the man up, if done very carefully, or staring at the view from the balcony, holding a guitar in his hands. At first he wasn’t sure he could play without the sounds echoing everywhere in the house, but soon the temptation took over and he allowed himself to give in to the tickling sensation on the tips of his fingers which he couldn’t describe any way but music wanting to be unleashed. His only concern was closing the balcony door, so no-one would be forced to begin their day earlier.

He sat on one of the chairs put there especially for his morning needs. Fabrizio wasn’t the type to sit on the balcony and look at the lights of Rome. Ermal was. So the next day after he made his first attempt to see the sunrise but stumbled over his own foot, two chairs, a lamp and some candles were brought to his new favourite place in the house. The kids met the idea with excitement, and soon toys, colouring books and all kinds of things only children know the purpose of appeared on the window frame along with a few photographs of them all together. Needless to say, Anita insisted on putting all the pictures he took from his old flat on the walls, Libero helping her carry the big ones and making sure not a single one was leaning too much on the left or right. Surprisingly, the weird geometrical painting turned out to be Anita’s favourite. She kept saying about how it was actually the picture of a fairy and even pointed at the place where the fairy’s wings were. Both Ermal and Fabrizio saw nothing but two triangles, but they knew better than argue with the girl squeaking in pure happiness. She immediately made her own fairy drawing, and while it wasn’t a part of any famous exhibition, Ermal liked it a lot more, so it was decided that two pictures should be hanged next to each other.

With a wide smile he started delicately touching the strings, swaying to the music. Somehow his fingers lived a life of their own and were determined to play 9 Primavere out of all songs. Strangely, Ermal didn’t feel his state of bliss changing, the song didn’t bring the same hurt it always did. There might be some unapologetic tears slightly burning his eyes, but he didn’t feel like wiping them away. Instead he took a deep breath and started humming quietly, not being able to sing properly with his lips always finding a way to form into a smile. Slowly the balcony door opened and revealed a sleepy Bizio rubbing his eyes. He frowned at the sight of a tear making its way down Ermal’s cheek, but as soon as he saw those eyes shine with the same light as at their happiest moments together, he relaxed and leaned against the door frame.

“Buongiorno, Ermal.”

“Buongiorno. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

Fabrizio shook his head.

“I just got up and wanted to find you. I didn’t mean to disturb. Please, continue.”

And Ermal did, only occasionally looking at his guitar, trying to keep eye contact with Bizio, quietly singing the lyrics. When he finished and put the guitar away to embrace the other man and finally feel those lips he’s been shamelessly staring at for minutes before leaving the bed, a hot breath tickled the sensitive skin on his neck.

“You should believe yourself more. See, you were right. _Domani tornerà sereno_.”

Ermal could only nod.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If you leave a comment, I'd die happy.  
> You can scream at me on my tumblr hellhole called @enter-the-bear-circle


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